Bella

Found
Found

The biggest thing I love about Twilight
      I know,
      I just outed myself as a fan of the series,
         both the books and
                the movies –
   is that Bella finds her place in the world.

[Spoiler alert for anyone
   who hasn’t bothered
      to read or watch it yet.
P.S. Shame on you.]

Past the epic love story,
     which it is,
 and the triangle –
            because apparently there always
                has to be a triangle –
        devotion to family,
            both blood and adoptive,
        adventure and exhilaration,
           which is also true,
 and the battles against
        what is originally perceived to be evil
           and against what emerges as actual evil,
                     there is Bella.

There’s ordinary Bella,
   who has always felt out of place
                           and out of step,
                           and trips and stumbles
                                through her life.

<Cough, cough.>

Yeah,
   I can definitely identify
     with the ordinary
           nobody.

In this case,
   because it is a fantastical
                        fictional
     book and movie series,
        of course she eventually
             gets the guy she loves,
                  and
             gets to be beautiful
                     and strong
                     and immortal with him
                           for forever.

But what really hits me
   is that she also finds
     who she was actually meant to be.
She becomes
     who she was supposed to be all along.

She finds her place.

She has her love with her, yes,
   but she also discovers that place
     as if she is a whole,
            by herself,
            separate
                and
            conjoined with him
                at the same time.

She is meant to be
   with him
     but she is also
          meant to be
   who she was designed to be
     all by herself.

I long to grow
     with
       and
     toward
       my Jeff
    as we grow older together
       but I also want
          to grow
    as me,
    as who He created me to be
       and maybe
             someday
          find my place too.

Unravel

On the Outside
On the Outside

Words
 pictures
 music notes
                      hide
                               run
                                      scram
                                                from me
                                                  as I release them.

Everything becomes
           j
              u
        m
                b
             l
         e
              d
            and
                  m
               i
             x
                 e
           d
            up
   when I know
     it was clear
        just microseconds before.

But somewhere between
     my brain
        and
     my tongue
     my skin
     my hands
     my pencil
          art supplies or
          keyboard
     everything
           u
                n
            r
       a
         v
      e
            l
         s
    into lonely letters
         parts of phrases
         broken visuals
         incorrect colors
         seemingly random numbers
            and
         disjointed noise
            until I can put them all back
                 in my head for a bit
                    to reestablish sense
                 before attempting
                    to let them out again.

Promises

Genesis 9:14-15
Genesis 9:14-15

I may not be forthcoming, but I’m not nonchalant. I realize the depth of all the stupid things I’ve done.

I can’t escape them.
I can’t pretend they never happened
     or that I never did them (1 John 1:8).
I can’t step away from my depravity as if it never existed,
     or in some ways, still exists (Psalm 38:18).

Although I may have trouble fully believing it sometimes, I have been forgiven (1 John 1:9). 

Even in the cases where I’m not sure I knew what I was actually doing, I made my choices and I am responsible for them.

Whatever karma I could possibly acquire with any good things that I have done – small or big – could never overcome my wretched humanity (Romans 3:10,23). Even if reincarnation were plausible, it would still never change the past.

As much as I wish I could go back in time and alter my actions, the Bible clearly doesn’t teach that we are able to change the past (Ecclesiastes 3:15). And if I logically play that wish out, that would mean I could do things on my own and not have to rely on Him.

Yet all I have is grace (Ephesians 2:8-9, Romans 11:6).

And His words (2 Timothy 3:16a) –
             words that are living,
                                   solid truth (Hebrews 4:12),
             words that push on me
                even when I can’t fully accept them all,
                     because even though I have trouble
                        believing everything
                            actually applies to me,
                               as if I am somehow excluded,
                               despite my repentance (Luke 15:7),
        His words provide forgiveness (Acts 3:19)
                                    hope (Psalm 62:5)
                                    healing (Mark 2:17)
                                    strength (Psalm 119:28)
                                       and
                                    freedom (John 8:36).

And I am still
   learning how to live
        in the promises He provides (Romans 8:1)
                rather than
        in my own understanding (Proverbs 3:5-6).

Week

1:50:46 Indefinitely
1:50:46 Indefinitely

Time rushes
   beyond understanding
     and there is no possible way
          to capture it
          or rescue it.

It has been a week
             of a thousand days
                 a week
           full of weeks
             and years
          all bundled into
              rushed conversations
              short stories
              the slightest of impressions
              jumbled thoughts
                  of words
                  of letters,
                  of small ink dots
                      and
              neverending guesses.

And we wait.

I look up from
   whatever I was doing
      to have no idea
   what it actually was
      or what time it is
   and scramble to figure out
      if anything has changed
           since the last text
                              call or
                              email.

Time
   makes no mention
         of us
   and still we wait,
        as hours bleedintoeachother
            minutes become
               both l  o  n  g  e  r
               and shorter
            seconds stop
                  and   skip
                  and        speed
                  and t
                          u
                             m
                               b
                                   l
                                      e
   yet we wait with a purpose,
        as sometimes weeks are made of
             sporadic small hopes
                  in between
             the timeless waiting.

Sabbath

Breathing in the stillness,
   inhaling refreshment
   tasting the thin
                   soft air
     and allowing my mind
           the freedom
               to wander
                   move
                   swerve
     where it naturally flowed,
           I drank in
               from all the senses.

With plum-scented wafts
   tickling my face,
      I would close my eyes
          and tune out the chaos
                         of the day,
             trading it for a calm dark
          and listen to the music
                         of the night
                             the quiet
                             the wind
                             the frogs
                             the bugs,
                taking it all in,
                feeling it
                enjoying it
                expressing it
           by repeating words
                               phrases
                               verses
                          until they were
                              ingrained.

Yet at some point
   that became
       unproductive
       trifle
       frivolous
   as if I should have
       grown out of it,
     because it would be ridiculous
         for anyone
            to bother with anything
                 that wasn’t clear
                                  resolute
                                  tangible
                                  quantifiable.

Did I leave silly things behind
          or
  did I leave part of myself back
       because I erroneously
            bought into the admonition
                that listening
                       feeling
                       pulling thoughts together
                                into cohesion
                           from where they had scattered
                                was just a waste
                                      of time?

By pushing myself
   to grow out of it
      be something more
      do more
         with every second,
      did I trade rest
                      fulfillment
                      joy
                 for productivity?

Did I just let go
             give up
       on refueling
       on what I need to sustain every day
               by inadvertently disregarding
                             or fully ignoring
                              what used to be
                                 my Sabbath?

Wondering

He is left
  questioning everything
          caught
          between
       the anger
       the yelling
       the screams
       the uncertainty
          invading every day.

He is left
  searching
     for any stability
        in the chaos and
                 intense silence
                    between
                 the screams.

He is left
  alone
     forced back
        and forth
        and back –
          indefinitely,
     forced to become a man
        at five years old
     forced to choose,
          yet left
       with an impossible choice.

He is left
  wondering
     if he is loved
        by anyone.
  Not even sure
     if this Jesus
        this God
        this possible Savior
           is out there,
     he is left
       with a small hope,
           and he prays
             to the only one
           who might even hear him
                  anymore.


Left Series: Part 4

Remembering

They were left
  devastated
  desperate
  dumbfounded
     over losing their son.

They were left
  in shock
  falling to the ground
     knees imprinted in the carpet
  calling out in the night
     for solace
     for strength
     for him.

They were left
  holding closely
     to each other
  wondering
     if their family
        would ever feel
     like their family again.

They were left
  seeking Him
     and
  seeing Him
   in a way they never had before.
        His power
          was more mighty
        His peace
          more calming
        His comfort
           more evident
        His rest
           more restorative.

They were left
  remembering him,
  cherishing the time
     they had with him,
  bonded together tightly,
     missing him.

 

Left Series: Part 3

Reaching

He left her
  with three kids
          a mortgage
   and a gaping hole
       where their marriage
            used to be.

He left her
  with no real explanation
  without anything for sure
        except her God
     who she holds fast to
        knowing He may be
               the only one
           she can ever fully count on.

He left her
  confused
  lonely
  angry
  abandoned
     just as he
  abandoned his God
     he once claimed
     he believed in,
        as he once
          believed in her.

He left her
  desperately screaming
  reaching up and out
     for her God,
       the only man
         she ever knew
       who she could fully trust
           with her faith,
       the only one
           who deserved her devotion,
       the only one
           who would never lie
       the only one
           who would never leave.

 

Left Series: Part 2

Clinging

She is left
     grieving
  with their two kids
       and
  without him.

She is left
     clinging
  to what remains
       of her family
    and to her God
       who allowed him
               to go.

She is left
     behind
        wearing thin
        growing weak
        reaching out
  to the God she loves
     throughout it all
        despite her sadness
        despite her despair
        despite the empty space
                around her
           where her husband
                used to be.

She is left
     learning
  how to live again.

 

Left Series: Part 1

Graceless

She moves with a movement
Of clanky hanks
And clumsy clunks
Bumping into knocks
And knocking into bumps
Tripping over crashes
As she falls into slumps.

All bellowing elbows
And knobby knees
Gracing her graceless walk
She clanks along
Through stones and rocks
Thinking silly talk
And humming humbling songs.

Her shoulder smashes
Pure evil corners
With particular precision
As no one could ever
Prove her childlike mishaps
To be merely a scrimmage
Or mischanced vision.